


Don't you remember?

by EmmaSpencer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confused Mycroft, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Sherlock, Mummy keeping an eye on Mycroft, Murder, Orders from up, Post TFP, Rescue Missions, Sherlock To The Rescue, Sick Mycrfot, So it begins!, Your plan is suicide, mission, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 09:37:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11101836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaSpencer/pseuds/EmmaSpencer
Summary: 'Mycroft woke up, slowly opening his eyes. He was surprised to see, that he was on the floor of Sherlock's sitting room. His head ached terribly; he sat up and realized he was covered in blood. Next to him lied Sherlock; stabbed several times, but he was still breathing.'





	Don't you remember?

"Where is she?" Mycroft asked angrily.  
"Don't you remember? She's on a holiday, you gave her the week off." answered Lady Smallwood.  
"She is? Since when?"  
"Yesterday evening, I think she's in Spain."  
"Oh, yes how could I forget?" Mycroft lied. "Is there anything else we need to discuss?"  
"No. Goodbye Mycroft." she left the office.  
Mycroft was thinking, trying very hard to remember. 'When? How? I don't even remember her asking for time off. What's wrong with me? She even said: see you tomorrow when we parted. What is this?'  
He took out his phone and dialled Anthea. He tried to call her sever more times during the day; but the number was unreachable. He sent her an e-mail, and went home.  
Two days later a call came from DI Lestrade.  
"What did he do this time?" Mycroft asked wearily.  
"Who? Oh, nothing. It's about a different matter. Can you come into my office, its important?"  
"I'll be there shortly."  
They were sitting in Greg's office.   
"Today we found the heavily mutilated body of your assistant in her apartment."  
"Anthea?"  
"Yes, I'm sorry."  
"What happened?"   
"The neighbour called because of the smell, she's been dead for two days. We had to identify the body from dental records."  
"May I see it?"  
"I don't think that's..."  
"I have to." Mycroft cut him off.  
"All right." Greg showed him the pictures. There was blood everywhere. She was seated on the sofa, stabbed several times, her face bashed in with a statue. It wasn't easy, but Mycroft managed to show no emotion.  
"When was the last time you saw her?"  
"Monday evening. She took the week off."  
"Has she got any plan for the week?"  
"I don't know, I don't remember."  
"I see. Is there anything you can tell about her that can be useful?"  
"Not much. I know she got engaged recently, her fiancé is a field agent, he is currently working abroad."  
"Any enemies?"  
Mycroft let out a small laugh. "Considering our line of work...I'll look into it."  
"Thank you. Call me if you find anything."  
Mycroft sat in the car. 'No, no. Why her? Who could have done a thing like this to her? Why her? Why did I tell him that she got engaged? I shouldn't, idiot... Good lord, the blood!' He spent the day looking through Anthea's personal life, her fiancé's work, and their current cases. His head ached; the words blurred in front his eyes, he couldn't get the pictures out of his mind. He decided to go home; he didn't bother with changing to his pyjamas, just collapsed to bed.

Mycroft woke up, slowly opening his eyes. He was surprised to see, that he was on the floor of Sherlock's sitting room. His head ached terribly; he sat up and realized he was covered in blood. Next to him lied Sherlock; stabbed several times, but he was still breathing. The door was thrown open, and Lestrade marched in with officers.  
"Mr. Holmes?"   
Mycroft just stared at him with confusion.

 

Sherlock was taken to the hospital and Mycroft to the station.  
He was sitting alone waiting to be questioned. He was fingerprinted; DNA sample and his clothes were taken. Greg gave him some spare clothes; they looked quite alien on him. His lawyer was called, but hasn’t arrived yet. Mycroft tried to wrap his mind around the events, he didn't remember a thing.  
'What happened? How? Calm down, calm down. I went home, yes; but after that nothing! Sherlock how's he? I would never do a thing like this to him; never. I'd never hurt him, my little brother; oh, God Sherlock!'  
The door opened, and Greg sat down.  
"How's he?" Mycroft asked immediately.  
"Still in surgery. What happened?"  
"I don't know. I left my office at 18:30. I had a terrible headache, I was tired. When I got home I collapsed to bed, as I was. Next thing I know I woke up on the floor, covered in blood. What's wrong with me?"  
"Is there anyone who can conform this?"  
"My driver took me home, but I was alone. I have a security camera by the front door."  
"We'll check that. Has it happened before?"  
"What?"  
"Blackouts? Sleepwalking?"  
"Nothing like this, but..." Mycroft trailed off  
"Yes?"  
"My headaches are more sever, I feel tired all the time. I never slept well, but these past two weeks...it's like someone hit me in the head. I forget things, it never happened before. You see I wasn't entirely honest with you before. I didn't remember that Anthea asked for the week off, Lady Smallwood told me. According to her she went to Spain, but I do not remember." he buried his face to his hands, and kept repeating "I can't remember."  
Greg left for the time being. He was going through the evidence that they collected from Sherlock's flat. Mycroft's prints matched the ones on the knife. They haven't found any indication that someone else was there. The tapes from Mycroft's house arrived. He was seen going into the house, and later leaving too. He was alone.  
Donovan came in. "His prints match the ones we found in the woman's flat."  
"Whose?"  
"Mycroft Holmes."  
"Are you sure?"  
"Yes."  
"Oh..."   
John called; Sherlock was out of surgery but still in critical condition.  
He checked the tapes from the day of Anthea's murder, same thing. He went back to talk with Mycroft, he was as he left him, still repeating 'I can't remember.'  
"Mr. Holmes!" nothing "Mycroft!" he slowly looked up.  
"Where were you on Monday evening?"  
"Monday? Home I guess......yes; I was home."  
"Did you leave your house at any time?"  
"No."  
"Are you sure?"  
"I am. I didn't kill her!"  
"Then how do you explain your fingerprints on the murder weapon?"  
"I don't know. I didn't! I didn't...you have to believe me!" Mycroft was shaking, starting to hyperventilate.  
Greg stood up, and got around the table.  
"Mycroft!" he placed his hand to his shoulder. Mycroft lashed out at him, then retreated to the corner of the room, knees pulled up, his head covered by his arms, shaking. Donovan rushed in.  
"It's okay Sally, nothing happened."  
"I wouldn't call this nothing."  
"Just leave."  
Greg stepped closer to Mycroft. "Mycroft, can you hear me?" there was no answer. "Mycroft!" still nothing. "Sherlock is alive, his condition still critical, but he's alive." Mycroft gave out a small whimper.  
Greg left him. "Keep an eye on him, and call Dr. Benton, we need a psych evaluation."  
Lady Smallwood was waiting in his office.  
"DI Lestrade, as I said before this case has to be handled carefully."  
"I did what you told me. No lawyer, no cameras, no tapes."  
"Good. This is Agent Smith; he will be working the case with you from now on."  
"I see."  
"Well, I have to leave now. Goodbye."  
"Just one question Ma'am. Mr. Homes mentioned that you informed him about his PA's holiday. How did you now she left for Spain?"  
"I didn't. I haven't even talked with him this week. Anything else?"  
"No, Ma'am, Thank you."  
Greg remained in his office with Agent Smith.  
"I want to speak with him."  
"I don't think now is a good time, he's..."  
"I don't care." he walked out.  
"Wait I'll go with you."  
"No. I talk with him alone."  
He remained in the office. Soon Donovan came in.  
"What are you doing here? I told you to stay and watch him."  
"I know, but the agent fellow sent me on my way. He said you already disobeyed orders by leaving me there. What is going on?"  
Greg was already on his feet. "Considering Mr. Holmes position it has to be handled carefully. They told me not to take any recording of the questioning; it didn't feel right, so I asked you to watch it instead."  
"Good call."  
They reached the room.  
"What the hell?"   
"He attacked me." of course Greg didn't believe him.  
"From now on you can not talk with him on your own."  
"You don't have the authority to do that." he reluctantly let go of Mycroft. "Oh and I sent away the good doctor, there is no need for his services." and walked out.   
Greg went to check on Mycroft. He was on the ground, his nose was bleeding, his lip split, he was cradling his right arm, slowly drifting away. Mycroft was put in a cell. "Keep an eye on him." he said to Steve, the guard on duty.  
He quickly went to check on John and Sherlock in the hospital.  
"What happened?" John asked.  
"I'm not sure."  
"Did he do it?"  
"I...it's seems that way. The problem is..."  
"Her sister reprogrammed him."  
"What?"  
"Euros, she can reprogram people. Once she suggested a doctor to kill himself; he did it, and also killed his family. Anyone who spends time with her is compromised, Mycroft said it himself. No one knows what she did to her after we blacked out."  
"Don't be ridiculous. In that case you are also compromised, shell I lock you up to prevent bloodshed?"  
Greg went to have lunch and to drink a considerable amount of coffee to get through the remainder of the day, when Steve sat next to him.  
"There is something fishy with that agent." he whispered, and kept looking around the café. "I checked on him as you asked, he just lied there like a log, it looked too unnatural. I wanted to go in, to see if he's okay. But the agent showed up and stopped me. Maybe it's nothing, but..."

Mycroft woke up, his head was still aching, his thoughts were hazy, he couldn't focus on a thing. Some food was brought in by Agent Smith. Mycroft didn't move, he was too tired to do so. When Agent Smith came back and saw that he didn't touch the food, he pulled Mycroft to a sitting position, and forced the food into him. An alarm rung in Mycroft's foggy mind. 'Why does he want me to eat? Why? Wait...Oh, no, no. How could I be so blind! Stupid me!' After that he made sure that the food disappeared. His thoughts got clearer day by day. He didn't show it, just remained silent, and stared blankly. Greg tried to question him several times, without success. Mycroft wanted to ask him about Sherlock, no one was talking about him; not a single word; but he remained silent. Even Agent Smith lost interest in him.  
Three days later they finally came for him.   
'Where now? Sherrinford? Don't think so. They wouldn't dare to close two Holmes in one place. They are afraid what we could do, even if we are totally separated. No, most likely I'll disappear; bullet to the head, my body incinerated.'  
He was surprised to see that they arrived to an airport.  
'Suicide mission; they want to use me one last time.'  
He was seated opposite Lady Smallwood.  
"This is very similar to your brother's situation. We are sending you to Serbia on a mission. Agent Wilson will tell you more when you got there. As you can imagine the chances of you returning are none."   
'Agent Wilson, Althea’s fiancé! Does she know? Or is it a coincidence. What are they want me to do? I'm not young; I can't do much of legwork......Oh, no, no. There won't be any mission. It's just for the others, she couldn't decide about my fate on her own. So she needed a diversion.' He remained silent during the flight and the drive too. They suddenly stopped.  
"Get out!" Mycroft didn't move. Agent Wilson took out a gun, got around the car, and dragged him out. "Walk!" he indicated the direction with the gun. They walked in the silent woods, until they got to a river bank.  
"Kneel!" Mycroft knelt down and closed his eyes. He felt the snow damping his trousers; he heard the wind blowing through the trees, the river. 'It's not a bad place for it. At least it will be quick...Sherlock!'  
The shot echoed from the mountains.

 

James Wilson was standing by the river, he sent the message, and anxiously scanned the water. 'Where is he? Why didn't he surface?' He caught a glimpse of a coat. "Bloody hell!" he jumped in. He reached Mycroft dragged him out of the water, got the coat off him, and throw that back to the water. There was a cut above his brow. 'Fuck, looks like I'm killing him after all.' Mycroft coughed up the water. "What?" he only managed between coughs.   
"Sorry, they were listening. I'm afraid the bath was necessary. Are you okay?"  
"Yes, thank you. Why? Why would you...I killed her."  
"No you don't."  
"That's not what the evidence says."  
"It says whatever they want to. No wonder you are confused, you've been drugged for the last three weeks. Lady Smallwood gave from it to me, in case you misbehaved. Can you get up? We have a long journey in front of us."  
They walked all day long, and a big part of the night in the thick snow. Mycroft was tired, it was cold, his clothes were frozen.  
"Where are we going?" he asked weakly.  
"There is cabin; it’s not far now, and tomorrow to my grandma's village."  
Soon they reached the cabin. James was prepared, change of clothes, blankets, tea. Mycroft was glad he could get out of the frozen clothes. James started the fire, and put on water for tea.  
"Where are we going? What are we going to do?"  
"You are going to stay with my cousin, it is safe there; small village, in this weather it’s cut off, so no one will bother you there. I'll go back to work, and hopefully your brother will be able to clear your name."  
"If he wakes up."  
"He did; luckily he doesn't remember a thing, or that's what he says."  
"He did! Good, good."  
He offered the tea to Mycroft, but he didn't want to take it.  
"Don't worry I didn't put anything in it." he still refused. "All right, look." James drank it first. "I'll bring in some more wood." Mycroft drank the tea and sat close to the fire wrapped in the blanket. He was still cold, shivering; his head and chest were aching. He was woken by James only few hours later. "Come on, we need to go."  
They walked in silence all day long. "We're almost there." soon houses were visible in the distance. Mycroft was exhausted; he was struggling to keep up with him. James’s cousin Ana and her husband Lazar came out the greet them.  
"Good, you are here." she looked behind James. "What happened? Where is he?"  
James turned to see that he was alone. "Bloody hell!" They walked back and found Mycroft lying on the ground; he was unconscious and had a fever. 'Great. First I nearly drown him, now pneumonia! What a rescue mission!' they carried him back to the house. Mycroft's recovery was slow. During his stay he helped with everything he could. Since the village was cut off their daughter was home, so Mycroft taught her, he also helped in the kitchen. He was way better at that, then with helping Lazar with the animals. When he was well enough they showed him the planned escape route in case of emergencies.  
One night they were sitting at the table.  
"He should have been here by now. He's never late and now...a week!"  
Mycroft kept his eyes to the ground; he had a suspicion and hoped it not to be true for their sake.  
"Do you know anything?" she asked, Mycroft didn't answer. "Mycroft, look at me." she lifted his head. The look on his face made her tear up.  
"No. Maybe he..."  
"I don't think so. I'm sorry, it's all my fault." 

He's been there for two months, when Ana rushed in.  
"Quick, you need to leave."  
"What happened?" Mycroft asked as she pulled him to the back door.  
"There is a stranger in the village asking questions." she stopped abruptly; someone was standing at the back porch.  
"You will need this." he dropped the bag they packed for this case.  
"Sherlock!" Mycroft did something he hasn't done in decades; hugged him. Sherlock patted his back awkwardly.  
"Please let go of me Mycroft."  
"Yes, sorry." he stepped back.  
"I'm hungry; do you have anything to eat?"  
They were sitting at the table, Mycroft looked at him expectantly.  
"I have a plan."  
"Oh..." he said disappointedly.  
"She is good; I have to give it to her."  
"What is your plan?"  
Sherlock turned his attention back to the food.  
"No, absolutely not. No, no way." Mycroft said after carefully observing Sherlock.  
"Do you have a better idea? You had enough time to think."  
He didn't answer for a while. "What if she...?"  
"No, she wouldn't risk it, not again."  
Sherlock stood up. "Thank you for the lunch. We need to leave now." he walked out. "Are you coming brother mine?" he called back.  
"In a minute Sherlock." he said his goodbyes "I couldn't thank you enough. You did so much for me, and in returen I...I'm sorry...I...I'm so sorry." she hugged him.  
"I know me too. Good luck."

"Where now?"   
"Home."  
"To London?"  
"No, to Mummy."  
"Mummy? No, Sherlock. We can't get them involved."  
"She offered it."  
They finally arrived to their parent’s house.  
"Mycroft!" Mummy embraced him.   
"Hello Mummy. I still don't think this is a good idea."  
"If we are to sit and wait for my boy to be killed, it's better done here."  
Sherlock couldn't stay, he had to be seen in London, and also the gossip of Mycroft's return had to be spread. Greg was staying with them, he offered it. He had the time for it since he was suspended.  
Mycroft was up all night waiting, and slept during the day curled up in the armchair in the kitchen.  
After a week he heard a noise in the middle of the night. 'So it begins!'  
The door opened slowly. Lady Smallwood walked in with gun in her hand.  
"Good evening Lady Smallwood."  
"Mycroft!" she nodded.  
"My parents?"  
"Sleeping."  
"Thank you."  
"I don't have anything against them."  
"Why?"  
"Why not?......It is rather a long list Mycroft. Sherrinford, Sherlock, you refusing me; you having too much power; you got sentimental; you vetoed too much of my plans lately, and so on. The time has come for you to be retired."  
"Eliminated, you mean."  
"If you want to say it like that."  
"But why put on this show? Why kill Anthea?"  
"I wanted you to suffer. I wanted you to think that you lost your precious mind. I wanted to see you broken by the loss of the people who were dear to your heart; thinking you killed them. It was a pleasure watching you suffer. Sadly I made a mistake. When I found out about it from the dear Detective Inspector, it was already too late.   
"What have you done to him?"  
"The detective, not much. I just made sure he won't dare to talk. He is a screamer, I can tell you that." she laughed. "Agent Wilson, well...the usual; a little tip here and there. But I guess you already suspected it."  
Mycroft nodded.  
"Well this is all nice, but it is time to finish what I started."  
"I don't think so." Greg was standing behind her holding a gun to her head. "Drop the gun."  
"You know that no one will believe you, not a word." she started to lover her hand, then suddenly fired the gun, Greg did the same.  
She was dead; Mycroft was on the ground too. He hurried to him.  
"Mycroft! Are you all right?" his hand was pressed to his side, blood pouring between his fingers.  
The house was soon filled with the police; Mycroft was rushed to the hospital. Greg remained to make sure that no evidence gone missing this time. Of course the whole house was bugged, cameras in every room from every angle.

Mycroft's opened his eyes to see Greg standing by his hospital bed.  
"It's over Mycroft."  
"Thank you."  
"I told you it will work." Sherlock said from the other side.  
Mycroft turned his head towards him, and smiled a faint smile. "Yes you did. Thank you brother mine."


End file.
